


Prince Lestat and the Clan of Thandeka

by GooberGoob



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Blood Sharing, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, F/M, Grooming, Internalized Misogyny, Lestat is a dictator, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Confederacy of Dunces, Sexual Abuse, There might be a banjo, Vampire class warfare, War is hell, eat the rich, murder ballads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberGoob/pseuds/GooberGoob
Summary: Fully confident in his role as Prince of all Vampires, Lestat sets his sights on making blood drinkers the glorious race of beauty and wealth they were meant to be. Which means certain vampires must be eliminated.Unfortunately for Lestat, in the end, a true Queen will always beat a Prince.
Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy, Armand/Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	1. The Glorious Prince Lestat

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I've been working on. Don't have a beta, so I've been editing it the best I can. I might change it, and re-edit it if needed.

Well God is in His Heaven  
and we all want what’s His  
But power and greed and corruptible seed  
seem to be all that there is. 

\- Bob Dylan, Blind Willie McTell

It was fate.

Lestat knew this now. It took time, over two hundred years, but the respect that had been denied to him in life had been paid back, paid back ten-fold. The boy with a title, but without respect and wealth, was now Prince Lestat the ruler of all vampires. It wasn’t just earned, no, it was his birthright. Not just from the time Magnus had slid his teeth into his then foolishly unwilling throat, but from the time he emerged from his mother’s womb. He was to be a creature that others would bow to. No less than a god. More than a God, for he was an immortal that actually existed. 

According to that wretched book, God made humans in his own image. So, he would make vampires in his own as well. Heaven had hierarchies, and so would blood-drinkers. They would do what God could not, dispense justice by feeding on the evil. It was his right, and it was his duty. 

Lestat turned his head, there was Louis, perfect Louis, now at peace with his role, sitting dutifully beside him, never questioning, always accepting. Reading of course. The title? Night People. How charming. Funny, in a way.

On his left was his mother, also at peace. It was amazing that it took an abduction and near death to finally bring her around , but here she was, ready to be the mother he always wanted, the mother he still needed. She sat smiling in a lovely light blue designer dress he had bought for her, with her long blonde hair running down her shoulders. She would occasionally, glance at him, and place her hand on his shoulder, but mostly she looked straight ahead, observing the court. Today his audience was small. He had requested it. Only his most trusted associates, and of course the ones he loved.

_Smiling, always smiling._

Unfortunately, the two vampires standing before him made him less than happy. 

“How?” Lestat hissed, “how can there still be more of them, I thought you said . . .”

Fareed nodded, twisting the already crumped piece of paper in his hands. “Yes, but it seems that a few have hidden themselves very well, very well. The Watchers have proven quite useful in rooting them out, my Prince.”

The Watchers.

That’s what Kapetria called them. Vampire spies, with flawless memories, able to sniff out and spy on even the best hidden covens. Able to observe without being discovered. Technology it seemed, had proved useful, where even the even the most fine-tuned powers couldn’t. Even his own. 

“A few live in large cities, but most of them seem to favor rural, even uninhabited areas. Many of them are nomadic. Traveling with the weather, or the need for better feeing possibly.” Kapetria said. “Many of the covens in the United States travel back and forth between certain locations. The small radius makes it much easier for us.”

“Many? That means, there’s entire armies of them!” 

“Small covens. My Prince.” Kapetria said. “Very small.”

“Many small covens. Many small covens equal one large threat.” Lestat said, slamming his fist, against the arm rest. He didn’t want to even envision them. Foul creatures, dressed in rags. Choosing to sleep in the dirt. Unworthy of even serving him. Waiting in darkened corners, ready to tear everything I fought for to the ground. “What happens when they join forces? What happens when they make their way to the palace doors?”

“Lestat.” Louis said. “Lestat please.”

“What?”

Louis cast his eyes down, then after a moment looked directly at Lestat. “If they come, you simply, you simply destroy them. It doesn’t seem like they mean to harm you.” He smiled a little, “vampires in distant lands are of no threat. Especially when they seem to want nothing more than to keep to themselves." He paused, swallowed hard, "nothing more than to keep to themselves, my Prince."

Lestat reached out and ran his hand down Louis face, “my sweet, foolish Louis. Unable to see what an insult those creatures are to you. They are a threat because they insult the very gift. We’re made beautiful. We are supposed to preserve beauty not . . .”

But beauty, beauty is subjective. Beauty is . . .” Louis’ voice trailed off, but then he continued “you cannot expect others to see beauty the way you do. There’s no need for such actions, no need for such slaughter.”

That was when Lestat struck him. Twice. The second time the slap knocked Louis out of his chair and on to the floor. The room became silent, even Gabrielle, disturbed by nothing, turned to look at the figure on the ground.

Lestat wanted to apologize, he wanted gather Louis up in his arms and fly away from this awful mess. They could fly back to New Orleans, back to Miami, back to anywhere else but here. He wanted to beg for forgiveness and weep in Louis’ arms, begging for release from that voice in his head that wouldn’t let him go. But that voice, overcame him and all he could do was scream. “I am your Prince! Your Prince! Know your place, consort.”

He turned back to Kapetria and Fareed. “I will go to these places, there might be worthy ones among them, even if they are only fit for servitude.” Lestat smiled, ignoring Louis and now his mother who was gathering ‘the consort’ off the floor, and leading him back to his chair.

Kapetria and Fareed continued to smile. Fontaine, Gregory, everyone was smiling. They understood, they knew. Armand had disappeared from Lestat’s sight, but the imp was no threat to him. 

Foolish to think Amel was still influencing him. Foolish to think he ever influenced him. Guiding him maybe, but in the end his choices were his own. And even if Amel had in some way lead him to this place to this throne, it was all for the best.

Wasn't it?

He was The Prince. He could see his subjects before him, beautiful creatures, all. Each knowing their place. A future of blood drinkers, dressed in gold, and skin like marble. 

“Let me see the list.”

Lestat ran his finger up and down the paper. These are the ones you are sure about?”

Kapetria nodded “Yes.” 

_Mainz, Germany_

_New Delhi, India_

_Unhwa-ri, South Korea_

_Lincoln, Nebraska_

He paused and snickered despite himself. “Pigeon Forge?” He started laughing, “Pigeon Forge”. Years ago, he and Louis had spent two strange night there, a little mountain town turned resort city, watching tourist enjoy country music, dinner theater, magic shows, and surely what must have been a sanitized version of life in what they called The Great Smoky Mountains. 

In a nearby town, they had run into two other blood drinkers. Just briefly. Just a glimpse. Very young, not more than a century, if they even were that. One a male, tall with with a sandy blonde beard and hair that ran down to almost his shoulders. The other was a small female with dark brown hair piled high in what Lestat would later learn was a woefully out of date beehive. Something had been wrong with her right foot, it was turned inward. Both of them were dressed in denim and leather They had been discussing a singer. 

_“Last time we saw him he didn't show up.”_

_“Showed the time before that."_

_And he sung everything in a damn Donald Duck voice._

That was it. They entered the building which said GEORGE JONES on the marquee, without seeing Louis or him. Louis had entreated him not to search for those strange, young vampires, and for once Lestat had listened. He didn’t think of them often, not even enough to mention them in one of his books. When he did, he wondered how they had survived. How had such young vampires managed not end up in flames?

“Pigeon Forge.” He said again. 

Kapetria nodded. “According to the information they watchers gave us, that coven also hides in the surrounding mountains.” 

Mountain vampires. He almost loved the idea. Those blood drinkers certainly would be more interesting, than the stogy company that filled this castle. He could invite them in, let them run amok. The others too, living by their wits in the wild.

_Fool!_ The voice hissed. _Amusing? You would soil the greatness of this castle with low level filth?_

The voice was right. Lestat handed the list back. ““I’ll leave with my army tomorrow. A few small attacks will make my intentions known. The mix of city and village will send a clear message: I can find them anywhere.”

There was no argument, no voice of protest, except, for one. It was a small, whispering, pleading thing. It spoke like that boy from the Auvergne. The boy who had wanted nothing more than Paris. Nothing more than to sleep in his lover’s arms. It was much softer than the other voice that currently had dominion.

Stop. Stop this. Stop. This is madness. Stop.

Everyone was smiling. Even Louis reached out, his hand touching Lestat's own. Holding it, all with a smile on his face. All was forgiven. 

Lestat closed his eyes, letting that other voice grow louder, until the boy was nothing at all. 

He was never that boy. He was always this. Always Prince Lestat.


	2. Atlantic City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In where some trash vampires, do vampires crimes, and discuss HRH.
> 
> Warning, Gertie and the crew have less that flattering views on Lestat and his court.

Everything dies baby that’s a fact  
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back

-Atlantic City, Bruce Springsteen

The slots, clanked, dinged and whirled around her as Gertrude, Gertie Mae to her loved ones (and unfortunately, those who thought themselves loved ones), concentrated on the one before her. The machine glittered, as the wheels spun round and round, far more complicated then when she had first come to this city in 1978. Clever humans.

She let the machine do its own thing. She had to be careful, win too much, or too many times, and they would think something was off. Nothing supernatural of course. A rigged machine maybe, some kind of inside job. Doreen Dula (‘pronounced DOO-LEEE’ she had told incredulous security when they had asked for her ID) would find herself escorted out of the casino, or worse yet, ‘chatting’ in the back, where fighting her way out would bring down some unnecessary attention. Doreen might even be banned from the casino, and then Gertrude Mae Brodie would need new ID. It was why Cassandra was about a block down, giving the blackjack dealers and the men around her the dumb blonde act, and Nathan was playing poker, across the street. Three big winners in the same casino? Too much luck for a place like this. 

It rested on a cherry, a banana and a single bar, costing her 20 bucks. 

It was almost 11. Gertrude was meeting Nathan and Cassandra at a gas station about two blocks away. Still beating the house, she decided to win big this time. Not too big, just enough. 

Pressing buttons, betting it all she let the wheels spin, and focused. It clicked and the lights flashed. Then it rested. Triple bar. Triple bar. Triple bar.

Gertrude let out a squeal and clapped her hands like the college girl she was pretending to be. Her birthday was last month, don’t cha’ know? Her friends, those lightweights, were already crashed out, at the Hard Rock and she just wanted to play a few more games. Tonight was totally her lucky night. She printed out the ticket (she missed the sound of clanking coins), and made her way over to the cashier.

The cashier was a young woman in her mid-20’s, with bright curly red hair, and freckles that covered her face. Her name-tag said “Rebecca”. She stared at Gertrude, her eyes lighting up with suspicion. Gertrude knew that look well, and she knew just how to deal with it.

It was in the eyes. The clothes helped too, the pink polo shirt, and the nice pair of jeans (wide legs to cover the brace), gave her that sorority look. But the eyes were a must. She smiled and walked up to the counter, her small, bright blue eyes meeting Rebecca’s dark green.

“Hello, miss. Can I please cash in my winnings?” She smiled a bit, enough to be perceived as friendly. Rebecca made that easy though.

Gertrude continued to look at the woman, with eyes that first saw the world in 1914, eyes that said ‘I may look sixteen, but I'm so much older’. No more than a blip by vampire standards, but old enough to be called ‘ma’am’ by everyone in the damn room, especially this girl. 

Rebecca’s face softened and she returned the smile. “Of course. You just look so young.” She laughed a bit, “but if you weren’t at least twenty-one, they wouldn’t have let you in here.” The accent was Southern, Kentucky. Like Gertrude's own. Like her real one. Unfortunately, Gertrude had chosen a New York accent for this night, so there was no time to reminisce. No time ask anything.

She counted out the money, and Gertrude took it and slid it into her purse. "Thank you so much!" Gertrude said, still smiling.

“You're welcome! Have a good night!” 

“You do the same.” Gertrude said, and headed towards the exit.

Gertrude could see the night sky as she neared the doors, and that feeling of vulnerability had returned. She hadn’t felt this way in years. Not since 1985 when she had huddled in the deepest parts of a mine, her arms wrapped around Nathan, while her maker hid in a bog somewhere in Wales, and Beatrice got her ass set on fire at the Cow Palace.

Poor Beatrice, finally stood up to Eoforhild only to get turned into kindling. 

In that seventy year old mine she hid. In that damp, pitch black ground, still leaking mercury, and sulfuric acid, Gertrude cursed Lestat. She cursed Lestat for bringing this thing all down on their heads, the Queen for doing this to them, and that gutless fool, Louis for not being able to keep his mouth shut in the first place. She cursed all the vampires who got all put out over two ex-lovers having a pissing contest via paperback. She cursed the interviewer and the peckerwoods that published those novels. Then she cursed herself for reading the things, and buying the cassette like every other silly vampire. She cursed herself the most. 

After that, Lestat quickly faded back into the pages of those books, no more real to her than Captain Ahab or Ignatius J. Reilly (and far less entertaining if she said so herself). She even stopped reading after the third book. Enough of her kin read those books to fill her in with what she needed to know. She didn't need to know that muttonhead became human and ate pasta, or met Jesus, or that his boyfriend briefly became a charcoal briquette. Freed from the central core, important, charcoal briquettes, not. 

Same for his music. The worn out cassette lay somewhere in the Winnebago, under more cassettes, CD’s, records and a few 8-tracks. Those Who Must be Kept, buried under Dublin Blues, Bone Machine, 9 to 5, Appetite for Destruction, and so many others. 

Gertrude only really thought of him when she thought of Beatrice, and then she would curse him again. But in the way one would curse a long dead enemy, like some crooked politician or lawyer that screwed your family over fifty years ago. Some distant Hatfield relation cursing a McCoy. It carried no threat. Just a way to let off steam. She had roads to travel, places to explore. A year after it was all over she was watching Townes Van Zandt, who was in fine form that night, play Tecumseh Valley, trying not to let red tears roll down her face. 

Now as she stepped out on to the sidewalk and walked down the street, she saw him as looming specter, or some large animal waiting in the shadows. But it was a killer hunting weaker killers. Some big ol’ mountain lion hunting down rat eating barn cats. And this little barn kitty didn’t have shiny black fur and big green eyes to make her the least bit endearing.

She looked up at the sky again. The bright lights of the city, had all but blotted out the stars. The only thing she could make out was a plane flying overhead, and the moon, which was nothing more than a slim crescent. There was that shiver again, that whisper in the very back of her head telling her to run.

Cassandra waved her from across the street. Tall, big, and blonde, Cassandra was dressed in a short, tight, leopard print dress, knee high boots, and purple fake fur coat. She looked like the country queen she was meant to be. Behold Cassandra! Queen of the Holler Vampires! 

“Hey! Cassandra leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “How did you make out?”

“Two-thousand.” Gertrude whispered in her ear. 

Cassandra grinned “Three thousand. A new Rolex, and two marriage proposals.” She laughed again, “those dumbasses, I barely had to count the cards or read any minds.”

“Nathan not here yet?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Mister ‘we gotta get to Tennessee as soon as possible’ hasn’t eaten yet. Said he’d meet us back at the camper.”

“Hope he don’t take long. I’m already sick of this place.”

“He already had his sights set on some pimp.” Cassandra said. “Might already be finished.”

They made their way down sidewalks, behind casinos and through a few back alleys. Passing winners, losers, drunks, and the occasional sidewalk preacher, proclaiming Atlantic City, a ‘den of sin’. Gertrude could feel her right leg tingle in its boot, fighting the position the brace had forced it in. She limped slightly as they got closer to the camper, sure that her foot, would snap the brace. 

“You’re awfully quiet tonight. Still worried about Glorious Leader?” Cassandra asked.

“You heard those internet radio shows.”

“Podcasts.” Cassandra laughed, “they’re podcasts.” She reached out and grabbed Gertrude’s hand, “All them rules. We can't follow those rules. And that court is, creepy. I mean, that one guy is a damn Chester. Those little vampire boys singing songs? Creepy.”

“Yep.” Gertrude didn’t want to think of vampire children, forced to sing for eternity like those little bird boxes she had seen in a store once. She thought of Eoforhild making her sing the first time she met Thandeka, making her sing anytime she met one of the clan. 

_It was Thandeka, Blessed Thandeka who said, 'the girl isn't a performing animal'._

“Don’t you think it’s fucked up?” Cassandra said. 

“Well, it ain’t right.” Gertrude peered down an alley. “Let’s go this way.”

Cassandra continued to talk “I mean . . . it’s like that little girl.”

“Woman.” Gertrude said. The poor gal may have been long dead, but Gertrude figured she deserved some respect. Given the chance to grow, Claudia would have been sitting on that throne. No, she would have destroyed the thing and left everyone the hell alone.

“Yeah. In a couple of years there’s going to be a pack of angry little vampires.” 

Gertrude felt that chill run down her spine again. “Let’s talk about this when we’re on the road.”

Nathan was leaning against the Winnebago, staring at their cell phone, when they arrived in the parking lot. “We gotta put some more minutes into this phone.” He said, opening the passenger side door. “Those group conversations are eating up our data.”

“Got some money left on one of the cards. I think we can use it.” Gertrude said, as she climbed over the passenger seat and made her way towards the bed. The area was filled with books, records, CDs, clothes, camping equipment, electronics and auto parts. More things filled the cabinets, unplugged refrigerator, and oven. “We gotta get rid of some of this stuff.“ 

“We can go through it tomorrow. Or the next night.” Said Nathan. “I mean, I bet, Charlie and his crew wouldn’t mind. I mean Trevor's a lazy ass, but Mabel would help. I'm sure we have time . . ." 

His voice drifted off and the silence hung thick in the air. The only noise was the engine, and the sound of the traffic around them. 

Cassandra tapped her foot against the door a few times, and then spoke. “Is he going to kill us?”

“Might could. That’s why everyone is laying low for a while. New Delhi and Anchorage , have already gone off the grid. Hell, Anchorage is never on the grid.” Nathan said, running a hand through his hair. "Should have learned from them."

Cassandra nodded "Unhwa-ri, too. They haven't sent a text to the group in days."

"Glorious Leader is a fickle shit." Nathan said. "He'll get bored."

“We ain’t nothing to him.” Cassandra protested. "None of us are. Hell, Anchorage is sleeping with the midnight sun half the time. They feed on bears and moose."

“That’s the problem” Gertrude, wiggled her foot around. “Like that coven in Iran, the radio, errhm, podcast was going on about. They were in the middle of nowhere. Weren’t doing nothing. Disrespecting the court is what he said. What that little mouthpiece said." She yanked on her foot, speeding up the process. 

“I still can't believe that shit." Nathaniel said. "Disrespecting my ass. That's what they always say every time Wearing the wrong underwear disrespects the court. I mean at least we’re guilty as charged. We disrespect Glorious Leader all the time.”

Cassandra placed her feet on the dashboard, and flipped through the radio, “he gonna bring us to vampire court? Go all Judge Wapner?”

“I think he’s more of a Judge Judy.” Nathan said. 

Cassandra slapped Nathan’s shoulder lightly, “Don’t you be insulting Miss Judy like that. She has common sense.” She grinned, “You three have beeeeen charged uh,” she said, taking on an exaggerated French accent, “with how do you say, shoppings at ze Goodwill, and uh takings ze’ clothes from ze donations boxes., and havings the Cricket Wireless.”

A wide grin spread over Nathan’s face. “You sound like you’re hunting moose and squirrel.” 

“Silence!” Cassandra said. “I am ze Prince!” She turn off the radio. “shit there ain’t nothing on tonight.”

“Now, now. Mister Lestat.” Nathan said, letting his draw thicken. “we lived in an RV Park in Paris, Tennessee for six months back in 1999, ain’t that right Miss Gertie?”

Gertrude sat up, putting her hands together in mock supplication. “that’s right Mister Lestat, and Paris Tennessee even got its own Eiffel Tower! And Paris, France might be the city of love, but Paris Tennessee has the world’s biggest fish fry! And from what I hear tell, they now got a Super Wal-Mart. You like Wal-Marts, don’t you? By the way Mister, King, Glorious Leader, Prince Lestat those are some nice Prada shoes. Winter season 2015?”

Cassandra slapped the seat and leaned over, “how dare you suggest I would wear something so out of fashion! These are from ze winter season 2018! And you! You Miss Brodie are charged with wearings ze flour dresses and callings me ze’ peckerwoods!”

Peels of laugher filled the Winnebago. “I think,” said Gertrude, wiping away tears that left red streaks on her face, “getting set on fire, might be worth it, if I can hear that motherfucker say ‘peckerwood’.”

“Such language Miss Gertie!” Cassandra said, as she made her way to the bed, taking off her dress as she did so. "I didn't think you swore."

“I’m just stating a fact.” Gertrude said. As if on cue, the rain began to fall outside. She pulled herself up and opened the window a crack. Just enough to let in the sound and smell of rain hitting the asphalt. Rain and road. If she lived to be as old as Thandeka, those would still be her two favorite things.” 

Gertrude pulled Cassandra into an embrace. “You’ll like the homestead. Even in the winter, there’s still enough game to keep us from starving, and they’ve been working hard to fix up the place. They brought up books, games and a few instruments too. Won’t get bored.”

“Sounds cold.” Cassandra said, pulling Gertrude in closer. She was still wearing her underwear and boots. She smelled like vanilla perfume and the blood of her most recent victim.

“We can build a fire.” Nathan said. “Plenty of blankets and furs too.”

“Mmmmmm.” Cassandra said. “You’ll sing for us up there, won’t you, Gertie Mae?”

Gertrude smiled at the idea: singing Barbara Allen, Willow Garden, Pretty Saro and all the songs she loved. Singing them like they were supposed to be sung: High and lonesome. Keening. With an untamed sense of control, like Bob Dylan once said. Hell, she might sing some Dylan. Been years since she had. 

Maybe if she sung them hard enough all the scattered dust that Beatrice became might reform, and she would return to her. If the court could have its ghosts, couldn’t she?

Then again, singing might attract unwanted visitors instead of long dead vampires. It might be board games, books, and whispered story telling. 

"Might could." Gertrude said. 

“Can you sing something now?” Cassandra sat up and began taking over her heels. “Something sweet.”

“How ‘bout Wind and Rain?” Nathan said.

Cassandra picked a Reba McIntire t-shirt of the floor and slipped it on. “That’s not sweet. A girl gets turned into a bone fiddle. Pretty to hear though.”

“Nathan, you still okay with driving?”

“Not like I’m falling asleep at the wheel.” Nathan said. “Come on, sing about those sisters.”

Gertrude laid back, with Cassandra’s body wrapped around her. She closed her eyes and begin to sing:

_There were two sisters of county Clare  
Oh, the wind and the rain  
One was dark and the other was fair  
Oh the dreadful wind and the rain_

High and lonesome.

With her eyes closed and the rain falling, she could almost slip away. To a time without vampire queens and princes. To days of wonder, when they were the hunters and not the hunted. To a time when the Prince lay deep in the earth and all was well with the Devil's Road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know that original characters are risky, but I wanted to explore the 'trash' and 'punk' vampires who get written off in Rice's novels.


	3. We Are the Goon Squad and We're Coming to Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat, along with his vam . . . sorry, blood drinker army, sets out to find the covens that have been eluding him.
> 
> But first, FASHION.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one. Might have to re-edit it. I work in healthcare and it's kicking my butt for obvious reasons.

Little boxes on the hillside  
Little boxes made of sticky tacky  
Little boxes on a hillside  
Little boxes all the same  
There's a pink and a green one  
And a blue one and a yellow one  
And they're all made out of ticky tacky  
And they all look just the same

\- Little Boxes, Malvina Reynolds

Fashion!  
Turn to the left  
Fashion!  
Turn to the right!

-Fashion, David Bowie

It was early in the night. Many vampires had not even been up an hour. Yet, the brightly lit throne room was awash in activity. Elders talked of tomorrow's seating arrangements and proper clothing as deeply as others might talk philosophy, literature or even religion. As they did, their charges looked on, waiting to be give permission to speak, but knowing full well that a chance would never come. They huddled close to each other, united in their weakness. Maker and fledgling were all dressed in their finest. Silk, lace and velvet were in abundance. Not a finger was without some rare jewel. Nothing from last season, except for the few who chose to dress in the style from the time they were mortal. 

All around there was entertainment. Notker's choir of vampire children sang, accompanied by an orchestra of trained clones. There were dancers as well, dressed in brilliant bejeweled masks, they spun around the room in jewel-toned leotards, delighting all. Large flat screen TVs hung on the wall between fine art.. One could see the latest news, watch a movie, or if they so wished, keep up with a wealthy celebrity or two. Servants milled about, to straighten a tie here, and to fix a stray thread there. Others polished boots, and scanned the room, looking for dirt of any sign of disarray, which was then promptly clean up. They loved it though. They recognized as the honor it was. 

There were shouts, claps and cheers that rang down the halls. 

In the middle of it all, was Prince Lestat, fully nude, 'Priapus' on full display. He motioned to four blood drinkers nearby. "Approach." He was ready. 

Clothes, and jewelry in hand they walked up to him, heads bowed. Eyes cast down in reverence. Two attendants set to work. Sliding the garments on to his body, smoothing out any wrinkles, and examining the clothes for anything that would need Barbara's attention. Another held up a full length mirror, allowing him to survey their work. They moved fast, and without noise. 

After they had finished with his clothes, they set to work polishing his boots and combing his hair. "Wait." He said. He bent over to grab the chin of the one working at his boots. This blood drinker was very young, and had only recently arrived to court with his maker, a tall, gregarious, green-eyed redhead with a name that Lestat found almost unpronounceable. She was standing near the back of the crowd, allowing Lestat to only see the top of her head. She was stunning though, which is why he warmly accepted her at court, despite her revealing nothing about her past except for saying that when she was a girl, she watched "sacrifices on Stonehenge". Her willingly volunteering her pretty fledgling without hesitation didn't hurt either.

_What was her name? He had such trouble remembering names as of late._

He looked down on her young fledgling. "This is your first time, polishing my boots, yes?"

The blood drinker who had lovely, large brown doll-like eyes nodded. "Yes, but, but . . . I've been trained. I promise." His voice trembled. 

Lestat ran a finger over the plush lower lip. "You better. I'd hate to have to do something drastic." He laughed and released the attendant. "I'm merely joking with you. Continue."

Lestat looked over his outfit. For this journey he wanted to be dressed in his finest clothes. A red velvet with gold trim, a black shirt made of the finest silk, with lace cuffs that draped over his wrists, tight leather pants, and black leather boots. All of them custom made, by some of the finest designers in Europe. One couldn’t forget the jewels of course, his hands were dripping with diamonds and gold, and a ruby pierced his ear. Let them see what a true blood drinker looked like. Let those creatures dressed in stolen rags, handmade junk and pathetic copies of their ancient garments.

After they were finished. The attendants, with the exception of the one holding the mirror, made their way to the back of the room. Barbara used a brush to carefully remove, any bits of stray dust. He had to look perfect. Not a hair out of place. 

"There." She said. "Is it to your liking, my Prince?"

He smiled as he looked at his refection. It was perfection. A golden god he was. Modern, yet timeless. Fit to be worshipped on the runway or in a church.

 _Let them look upon their true Prince and be ashamed._ The voice hissed. 

His army, and the Watchers waited, eternally patient, waiting only for his call. They would wait forever until he demanded it. Gregory, Thorne, and Cyril waited as well. All smiling of course, they knew that this was good and they knew that this was right. They were ready to fight with him, to purify, to see his vision come to its full fruition.

Nearby, Amel watched. Also smiling. Lestat was thankful. Both of them free. Amel free in a body that was his own, and Lestat free with the knowledge that his thoughts, and his will was his own.

_They were his own, weren’t they?_

_The voice is mine._ He thought to himself. It isn’t Amel’s. _I know my own voice. My thoughts._ He glanced over at Amel, who was still smiling. _There’s a reason I sit on this throne, a reason why I am adored. My defeat of Rhoshamandes proved it. Why wouldn’t they adore me? Why wouldn't I be the Sun that these planets revolve around?_

Again, he saw the vampires standing before him. White marble, and gold. So much like the humans that led the world for civilizations until the creatures of the gutter rose up to boldly cut them down. The humans that still deserved to be in control. The House of Bourbon, The House of Romanov and so many others whose right to rule had been taken away. 

Unfair. The beautiful and powerful should always lead the weak.

As Lestat continued to look as the faces seemed blur, changing into one glorious being. A celestial creature that worshiped him and only him. Marble and gold, marble and gold. He became dizzy almost unable to place their faces, remember their names. But ah, he knew the clothes that they wore: Alexander McQueen, Christian Dior, Versace. Only the best clothes for these angels. 

Just behind chosen he saw the faces of his servants. How accepting of their proper place, they were. They knew the natural order. They knew they were fortunate, that they were just beautiful enough to attend the needs of the chosen.

Of course, Louis was not there. Nor Armand. No matter. His shy, retiring, introverted Louis would find the activity taking place in the courtroom, overwhelming. He might not even be up yet. And Armand? Who could ever understand that Imp’s reasoning? Marius was there, as was his mother, waiting to wish him good luck. He didn’t need luck, but it still felt so good to hear her say it. Her beloved Sevraine stood there too, with her hand on his mother’s shoulder.

_Mainz_

_New Delhi._

_Unhwa-ri,_

_Lincoln_

_Pigeon Forge_

There were more, but these would be enough for right now. Enough to let his intentions be known, enough to send a message to those who disrespect the court, those who refuse to rise to their station, and those who dare to make blood drinkers from the unworthy. 

“The watchers say that the coven in Mainz has left the town. They’re headed to the country side. Possibly the mountains. Right now they're hiding in a town called Kitzingen. In an old American army building” Kapetria said. “New Delhi has also left, but we do not know where.”

“What?” Lestat hissed. “How?”

“They don’t know.” Kapetria said. “The Watchers described them as nervous. They might simply have a premonition. They listen to the broadcasts. Some must read the books . . . we’ll find them. You need not worry, my Prince."

Lestat nodded. “We should leave. The more time we idle, the more time they have to hide, and to plot against me.” He turned to his army, “we leave now. Off to Germany.”

As they took to the air, as they flew towards Germany, Lestat swore he could hear the flapping of wings. 

\--------

Somewhere deep in the in halls of the castle, in a corner of a small library, two figures huddled.

“Don’t listen.” Armand pressed Louis close to him, running a hand through his black hair. “Don’t listen. Don’t listen, if it will upset you. Just listen to my voice, caro mio. Tell me. What do you need? If I can do something for you . . ."

“Just stay.” Louis whispered. He knew that soon, when the fanfare died out, and the army left, the rest of the court would go back to milling around the castle, leaving them vulnerable to discovery. Vulnerable to gossip and to social climbers. “I don’t have you for long. Just stay.”

Louis thought of a time so many years ago, after the Queen and before the Body Thief. Those brief hopeful years when he thought they had a chance. Where he thought old wounds could be healed, and old sins could, if not entirely forgotten, could be forgiven. Sweet little memories. Sitting with Lestat on the couch, watching movies that Lestat enjoyed. Reading with Lestat’s head on his lap. Sleeping in Lestat's arms and Lestat kissing long his jawline, nipping just so . . .

“Don’t torture yourself with those thoughts, beloved.” Armand said. “Please.”

“Sometimes, he would come to me, weeping.” Louis said. “not those founts of tears he’s so known for, but weeping like a frightened child. He had such nightmares, such a fear of being taken, someone snatching him away again. His power, his strength was absolute even then, and yet, and yet . . . .” Louis reached out and gripped Armand’s hand with his own. "He was scared of sleeping alone."

“Please. Please.” Armand said. “Don’t think on such things. There is no sense in it!” He kissed Louis’ hand. “No sense in it! You will only . . .

“He begged me to protect him!” Louis’ voice almost broke, and Armand would have sworn he saw the beginning of tears in those lush green eyes. But then, Louis took a deep unnecessary breath. His body stilled, and his voice became soft and calm. “I would hold him, and kiss his forehead. I promised to . . .” Louis buried his head in Armand’s chest. “I told him, that nothing would ever harm him again.”

The castle rumbled with noise, the sounds of The Rite of Spring, the footsteps of the young, and idle chatter. The Prince was off on another grand adventure, and the members of the court had nothing else to do, but wait, and pretend to be royalty, like children play acting in some attic. Pointless and foolish. 

“He shouldn’t, have struck you like that.” Armand said. “If I could, I would have protected you.”

“Don’t blame him, my dearest. He was only following orders.” Louis responded.


	4. Then We'll Come From The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thandeka ponders, and Thandeka plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates, been struggling with this chapter.

Even immortals are not immune to fate.

\- Zulu Proverb

Thandeka stood on the cliff over-looking the ocean, the beach, and beyond that, the city. Her senses were filled with sights, sounds and smells: the salt of the ocean, the gas of the cars, the noise of the people, and the waves crashing onto the beach. Spices, perfumes, singing, and shouting. A glorious cacophony that felt oh so familiar, and yet made her long for deserts, moutains and savannahs. Thandeka went here often. From that great vantage point, she had watched the world and the landscape change. At times, standing there, she felt like the great goddess her clan often insisted that she was, even though she usually had no time for such foolishness. Powerful? To some. Immortal? Perhaps. Ancient? If one chose to just look at human history, maybe. But a goddess? Goddesses, like Gods, were statues, long forgotten texts, stories that humans told their children, not much else.

She definitely didn’t feel like a Goddess at the moment.

The winds changed and a smell filled her nostrils, a sweet, almost sickly perfume, and she shivered. She actually shivered. She couldn’t remember the last time she shivered. But she must have, how else could she know what was happening, know what it felt like? No matter how desperately she searched her memories, nothing came up. She looked up and the moon was gone, not just hidden behind the clouds, but gone. A darkness surrounded her that no even she could see out of.

Then he stood before her.

Oh, Thandeka knew him.

She had never met him, never looked directly in his eyes. She had never even seen him, except for a brief, glance at a TV, in a café in Barcelona many years ago. She had never read any of his books, a few brief summaries from others were quite enough. But she knew him as well as she knew her own fledglings, and her fledgling's fledglings. As well as she knew the mountain. As well as she knew the path to Nia’s old village. As well as she knew the beat of her own undead heart.

He was dressed in all matter of finery of course. Nothing but the best for this leader. Red, black, gold, and diamonds. A fine silk shirt and an embroidered jacket. Sewn by the most talented human hands in Paris, or perhaps Millan. 

His hair was blonde, so blonde it was almost white. As white as a sun she had so often heard about, but had never seen. A sun she couldn’t even remember.

(Why couldn’t she remember?)

His skin was also white. White like those damned Roman and Greek statues after time and weather had washed away all the paint: nothing left but the cold hard marble underneath. Washed everything away until fools looked upon those statues and thought that’s what they were meant to look like. No colors, just white, white, white.

His eyes were blue of course. Flawless, like those rare jewels that he wore. Like the ocean, some might say. Thandeka knew that many worshiped those eyes, that many had looked upon those eyes and fallen deeply in love. But those fools had forgotten, blue gems sometimes bring curses, and blue oceans often swallow up souls. Blue oceans drag those souls down to the very depths, where there is no blue any more, only darkness. Even worse, some had fallen in love with those blue eyes knowing full well the darkness that lay underneath. 

(She couldn’t remember blue oceans either. Her memories, where filled with nothing but dark waters.)

 _Glorious Leader_ , they called him, tongues firmly planted in their cheeks.

 _Baboui hwangie_ they hissed.

 _Der Rockstar._ They said with a dismissive wave of their hands.

_Tyrant._

_Dictator._

_That blonde bastard._

_The Prince._

_The Prince._

No one need whisper in her ear, no one need point and call out “there! There in the sky is Prince Lestat.” The Prince of All Vampires. The one who woke the Great Queen, toppled her, and as time came to pass, replaced her. The one who even the sun could not touch. Indestructible. Immortal.

As she looked upon him, Thandeka was afraid. And she hated it. This infant. This tadpole. She was an ancient before he was even born. Thandeka should have been able to destroy him with a single look, and yet he held the power to not only destroy her, but all that she loved. For no other reason than they failed to live up to his standards, refused to abide by his foolish rules.

His mouth didn’t move, but, oh, she heard the words of his court loud and clear. She heard them as if a chorus had surrounded her, shouting, screaming in her ear.

Dark. Barbaric. Poor. Trash. Unworthy.

All paths down the Devil’s Road blocked. All but his.

He smiled. A wolf devouring its prey.

“Why?” She said. She wanted to reason with him, to tell him that neither she, nor any of her clan where any threat to him. She wanted to explain, but all words seemed to have vanished from her lips. There was only that one question. “Why?”

"Why are you doing this to us?" She screamed. 

No answer emerged from his lips.

He rose further above her, his hair lighting the sky, his arms spread as his army floated behind him. Prince Lestat, his royal highness, the conqueror, and now the destroyer. He was smiling, taking delight in what he was about to do. The smile of one who believes that his actions are good and just. And as he rose higher, and higher, his face began to morph and change, into that of another: blue eyes became green, hair became red. Only for a moment though as the flames began to grow, the face was unmistakable, it was Prince Lestat. The beautiful, terrible, and cruel Prince Lestat. 

She heard her children cry out. From the mountains, deserts, valleys and plains, she heard them cry out to her. From the hollers and from deep in the cities she heard them scream her name.

As the flames surrounded her, she screamed, and it was his name that burst forth from her lips.

Thandeka woke with her hands clutched around her mouth so hard, that she felt her jaw cracking, but she held on. If she let go, her scream would shake not only her house, but the entire neighborhood. Windows would break, walls would crack, and foundations would give way. So, she held on, until the terrible thing subsided, and what finally broke from her lips, was nothing more than whimper.

“Lestat.”

She hadn’t screamed like that in years, not since . . .

Thandeka didn’t even want to think about it. She would eventually have to, but not now. She would think about it in a few days, a few years, a few centuries, but just not now. She could feel tears streaming down her face, and for the first time in many millennia, she had to remind herself that she did not need to breathe. But she had always know that, hadn't she?

She sat in bed listening to the scraping of bone as her broken, dislocated jaw worked itself back into place, waiting until the rising panic in her chest, stilled, and she could think again. She looked around the bedroom, her favorite room. Like much of the house, the walls were lined with photographs and paintings, but these were her favorites. Some were expensive, created with expert care, others were done by street artists, or taken with cheap cameras. She loved all of them.

Shelves had other treasures. A white vase painted with delicate blue leaves, a gourd with animals carved into it, a snow globe featuring Las Vegas, and other gifts given with love. Yes, they would crumble, but for now it was good to look upon them and remember.

Nia was curled next her and would probably be awake in five, possibly ten minutes. Beautiful Nia, all soft circles, with the light from the lamps providing just a hint of the gold that seemed to glitter on her skin. Her lover, adviser and oldest fledgling. When she awoke, she would certainly have something to say. Thandeka reminded herself to listen.

Thandeka could already hear the cell phone beeping. Her phone would be filled with text messages, her computer with e-mails, and her mailbox with letters.

Outside she could hear the sound of cars, distant music, and two men speaking in Afrikaans across the street. She could hear the waves crashing against the shore, just like they had for thousands of years. She could hear the wind, and the sounds of animals as they hunted and slept. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, the house, and the city fell away, and she could see everything as it once was. Other cities, other villages, other times.

She got up, reaching for the cell phone. Over 100 messages on WhatsApp, while she slept, and others were already coming in. 

Final words of goodbye, final plans and well wishes before they went where the modern word could not reach them. Coven Detroit, telling Coven New Delhi that they would meet again soon. Coven Addis Ababa promising Coven Lincoln that that they’d cross those oceans someday. Coven Mainz telling Coven Addis Ababa to be safe. Coven Pigeon Forge inviting everyone to the “homestead”. Coven Callao promising to visit everyone. Coven Winnebago, promising to ‘settle down’ because the actual Winnebago was ‘on its last legs’.

The ones who had signed off, had left one final message. Coordinates. Latitude. Longitude. Not exact, just a vague idea of where they might be hiding, so that others could find them if necessary.

She continued to scroll down the messages. Spreading out. Hiding. But that had always been their way. Travelers, nomads, loners. It had always kept them safe. Kept (most of) them safe during the great Queen’s rampage. Kept them safe when Amel set those he had deemed unworthy on fire. Even when they were finally freed from the central core no one had mentioned a single ill effect. 

And their ways had kept them free. Free to travel along whatever roads they chose. Free to form their own covens, and live by their own rules. And she had been free as well, for what mother needs her children hanging around her neck for eternity? She was happy to meet new vampires, happy to share her blood and wisdom, and happy to let them go where ever they wished.

Now she wasn’t so sure. The Prince had found a way to discover even the most remote covens, and he seemed set on destroying them. After almost forty years of Lestat de Lioncourt and her clan's growing Lestat shaped worries, she was exhausted. Exhausted. No immortal should ever feel exhausted. Just like no immortal should shiver.

It was time to hide, time to plan, and time to wait. She reminded herself that there was no shame in hiding, no shame in survival. They had done it before. And still, she couldn’t help but feel ashamed. Why should her children run in fear? Why should she tell them to do that? Especially when they wanted nothing else but to be left alone. When she wanted nothing else to be left alone. 

How had it come to this? A book. Just a little book, that humans still thought of as fiction, leading to so much strife? So much resentment, and so many accusations even among her own covens. So many deaths. Did that little green-eyed thing know the hell he would wrought in that room in San Francisco all those years ago? She remembered a letter Gertie had sent to her, shortly after the Great Queen was destroyed: _All this trouble because someone didn't get fucked right,_ the letter had said in part. Crude, true, and at the time still a little funny. 

It wasn't so funny now. 

Nia was climbing out of bed. She smiled at her. “Hello beautiful.”

Thandeka smiled. “Hello, my sweet.” She waved her over. She took Nia’s beautiful, round face, with it's gorgeous plump cheeks, in her hands and kissed her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Nia glanced at the phone. “How is everyone?”

“They are well. As well as they can be.” Thandeka said, as she scrolled through the messages once again. In a few days, I believe almost everyone with be out of range.”

“Good, and a shame.” Nia reach for the robe at the foot of the bed. “Does that we will be leaving soon?”

“I don’t know.” She kissed Nia again. “I shouldn’t be so uncertain.”

“Of course you should.” Nia said. “These are very, uncertain times my queen.” Queen. Nia was the only one who had the privilege to call her that. More a term of affection, than worship, said in the privacy of their own bedroom. “You aren’t free from such feelings.”

“I wish I was.” 

“Shall I check the mail?”

“Yes, please do.” 

Nia nodded, then turned down the hall.

A sudden, unwelcome chill ran through Thandeka. The same chill that she had felt in her dream. She could feel him. He was coming. He was searching for them. But where? Where? She closed her eyes. There he stood again. Waiting, waiting to see what she would do. He grinned, showing his teeth, almost daring her to attack, to defy him, so do anything accept go willingly.

 _Bastard._ She hissed. _Fool._

He wasn’t really there though. He was somewhere else. But she could feel the terror, hear the cries of desperation. Her useless heart pounded her chest, along with theirs. Her children. Her family.

Her eyes opened. No Lestat. Just her room. The neighbors outside were still talking. Someone else had joined the conversation. Nothing important. Just discussing motorcycles. 

Nia walked back in. “Not as much mail as yesterday. There’s something from Coven Anchorage.” She opened it, “they’re very sorry for not having written, but they only recently made it back to Anchorage to check their PO box.” Nia’s laugh, was nothing more than a puff of air. “They will go back to the Interior soon. And Sekia appreciates my offer, but prefers to stay with her Coven in Alaska. She wants to know if we’ve heard anything from Eoforhild . . .” Nia crumbled the letter in her hands and tossed it in a bin. “Of course. That’s that.”

Thandeka tried to smile, “I’m sorry. Sometimes I think . . . I think I should have never . . .”

“Oh, good things still came from it. In a way . . . "

The cell phone rattled and beeped.

[Mainz: _News._ _Mainz. New Delhi. Unhwa-ri. Lincoln. Pigeon Forge. He will attack. Flee now. Hide!_ ]

Then it was the same message in multiple languages. _He will attack. Flee. Hide._

Nia hand was on her shoulder. “Umame?”

All Thandeka could do was show her the phone.

“He . . .” Nia’ voice trailed off. “He . . .can’t!”

“Wait. We don’t know . . .” Thandeka typed at reply. How did they know this? Who had told them? Were they sure?

_[Mainz: We have a spy in the Prince’s court. If only we were able to get the information sooner. May we come to Cape Town, Lady. Yes?]_

Thandeka could only type out a trembling “yes”. Another reply, this time from Addis Ababa, asking what they should do. Should they go? What about the places that weren’t mentioned? The North and South American covens wouldn’t hear of this for many hours. They were sleeping. So many were unreachable. They thought they still had time. How foolish for them to think they still had time.

Thandeka responded the best she could. She didn’t bother to ask Mainz about the hows and whys, there would be time enough to ask when they arrived. Which would be soon.

“He can’t do this!” Nia said again, her beautiful black eyes filling with red tears. “We must do something.” The tears flowed down her cheeks. “He can’t do this.” She said again,

Thandeka turned and kissed Nia’s forehead. “He can and he will. We knew this was coming.”

“What do we do? New Delhi and Unhwa-ri might be able to fight back, but . . .”

“Don’t under estimate the others.” Thandeka looked down at the phone again:

_[Mainz: We are setting some things up to “distract” him, keep him in Germany for awhile.]_

_[Thandeka: This will turn all his rage on you.]_

_[Mainz: He does not know how we r connected. He does not know about u. Let him rage. He knows exactly where we are. We must go now. Tell the others to look out for The Watchers: White hair and white eyes. They seek us out. All will be explained.]_

Thandeka began to type she as spoke. “Mainz has bought us some time. I believe. Use the cell phone to alert the covens. I will try and contact them the old way."

Her fledgling’s minds where closed to her. But every coven, every single one had someone who had taken her blood. Even the younger ones. She hoped that would be enough. Just enough time to figure how The Prince was able to find them.

“Please wait for the Mainz coven.” She said to Nia, kissing her again. Nia, her one constant. The one who she protected and the one that protected her. Nia, who she should have listened to so many time. Her one true love. “I must send a message.”

Thandeka sat on the bed and closed her eyes.

It was nothing but darkness, at first, then flashes of gold, then white light. Her mind opened up across land and oceans as she called to them: _What they feared has finally happened._ _They were no longer safe. They were no longer unknown. He was coming._

_Listen . . ._

_Listen . . ._

And they did. They climbed to high cliffs and went deeper into the jungles, knowing that they would have to prepare for battle. They listened and dug holes in earth in hopes that the Prince’s army could not find them. They listened and they waited.

And across the ocean, the ones who slept listened as well: In abandoned gas stations, motels and trailers, they listened. Under the dirt and sand, they listened. Bodies in death sleep tossed and turned like mortals, eyes opened in the dark, saw nothing but her face then closed again. Voices cried out, and fists clenched, unable to wake up, unable to really scream.

They knew. 

He was coming.


End file.
